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[minusregina]

Angst Meme

Under the cut are 30 angsty prompts. Send me “Gimme Angst!” and I’ll generate a number to see what we get!

Warning! Triggers are throughout these plots (such as rape, suicide, ect.)

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[minusregina]

The immediate expression is enough to indicate that the woman isn’t quite used to being with people as forthright as Gabbana. She likes to think of it as doing ignorant people a charitable service; at least now they know that poisonous bitches such as the young socialite exist in the world to make peasants like this girl before her miserable. Or infuriated. It was always so amusing to see people mad.

“Then I’m glad I’m not a model.” Idiot. “Are you really one to speak about the intellect of others? You look like you could use a little improvement in that area.” To the question she nodded, and crossed her arms before her chest out of habit, all her weight leaning on a high-heeled foot. “That should be obvious enough. Were you born here? Wouldn’t surprise me, seeing as you look like all the peasants around us.” 

Her eyes widen, blinking multiple times as the insults cut through her. Strangely enough she doesn’t feel too bad about the cruel things being hurled in her direction. Is it because it’s still the early morning and she cannot process it as well as she can when fully awake? Or was it her mental block that she had grown to develop for ages just stopping from causing her to become infuriated?

"Well you know what they say; models aren’t exactly the brightest. All they need to do is to stand and look pretty to succeed." She answers in respond to the insults. "Gabbana? It’s a pretty name. You weren’t born here, were you?" 

[minusregina]

“Total bull,” she uttered immediately. Being young was terrible, especially when people had the tendency to insult her and have the balls to say that she lacked experience. Honestly, she’s had all the time in the world to have all the experience she needed, and at the moment she was simply tired of it all. Settling in Seoul for a few months was the longest she’d stayed anywhere and God-forbid she was actually starting to enjoy it. Consequently she smiled at the remark, for once looking less of a frigid bitch and more of an actual young woman who should be, by all intents and purposes, content with her resources at the moment. “That’s new. It feels weird to be called a best friend, but uh --,” she laughed awkwardly, blaming her unexpected agreeableness to the alcohol and sugar. “Put your phone on silent when you’re in class or in a broadcast, maybe. I might just text you every now and again to make sure you remember – it’s at your own expense whether you get embarrassed in class or not.”

"It’s good to be young, isn’t it?" it was more of a rhetorical question that she stated, and the girl rest her arm on her lap with the smile spreading on her face. And as someone who subscribed to National Geographic magazine and Tatler, it was quite odd how Lana Del Rey’s Born To Die was playing on her head (she wasn’t even a huge fan of the artist), ‘The road is long, we carry on, try to have fun in the meantime.' when Gabbana came with that statement. “And I don't know about you, but from now I see you as the Blair to my Serena—which, by the way, means that I'm adding you to the 'best friend' list,” she chuckles, “…so feel free to come to me whenever things happen, alright? I'll be there to assist, or, well, I'll try. As long as you don't call me when I'm in a middle of class or broadcast—” 

[minusregina]

She’s felt enough. Some wounds have been open for too long that she forgets they exist until someone rubs salt over them, with a dash of lemon. Such is a thing that Taemin has done and she both hopes that he realises this, and hopes that he doesn’t. This is the image that she has built and just because she’s hurt over something deep doesn’t mean she’ll whine over it.

Gabbana never, ever whines about feelings. In her point of view they make her weak, and as he apologises she merely shrugs. There’s no point in acknowledging an injury that’s better left alone. If possible she’d have cut her own heart out by now, but she’s still only (sadly) human, and there’s nothing she can do against any of the things the treacherous organ brings forth. The tone he takes with her makes her feel pathetic, and again another proverbial layer of ice makes her demeanour even colder than the sudden chill around them.

“Maybe.” And that’s the last she decides to say about the matter. Just thinking about it more makes her want to throw herself off the balcony, party or no party – the former only garners immediate attention. Heck, there’s even a part of her that’s fearful that, if she doesn’t go out with a bang, her whimper will remain unnoticed in her dying moments, and her absence written off as just another rich girl doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing, at the wrong time. How terribly off-putting death is. Nonetheless she smiles, glad that they’re back to relative normativity. That’s how things should always stay between them, no matter how terse, and Gabbana is determined to keep it that way. “Of course. I look better than any young female adult here.” Her flair and ego comes naturally after definite success. “I’d say the same for you, but formulating a compliment will take me all night, and I think other males need to be graced by my presence. No need to monopolise my valuable time, pleasant as my company may be.” 

Her cold expression is one of which it is a rarity if it changes, and though it remains equally as distant and iced-over as when he first approached her, he can instantly tell that he’s hit a nerve. There’s a heavy feeling of guilt that sinks in his stomach, and he diverts his gaze from her, allowing it to fall to where his arms are folded over the overlook of the balcony. 

He has a tendency of bluffing when he’s unsure of how to handle a situation or how to respond, and perhaps in this case he should have just kept his mouth shut. Of course, he truly meant his words, and had only meant well with them, but they clearly were of no use to her. And honestly, he isn’t quite sure why he ever expected them to be, because despite being of similar class and familial background, they’re far from the same. He doesn’t understand her problems, nor does she understand his own, and trust is practically a nonexistent factor in their relationship. For good reason, of course.

"You’re right. I don’t— and I’m sorry for pretending to, because I know how disgusting that is." His words are quiet and sincere in contrast to her own harsher tone, and as his eyes meet hers, he doesn’t fail to notice the way they glisten in the light from inside. "But Gabbana," he stands straight from his leaning position, eyes remaining on her for a moment. "I think that trying to live on your own is strong, even if Dolce isn’t around to see it." And it’s then that a sigh falls from his lips, because in a way he does understand. His parents threw him to the curb when he decided he wanted to make a life for himself, and now he only has himself to make proud. But in the end, he finds that it’s better that way. A smile twitches across his lips at her remark about his tie, and he raises a hand to fix it, a retort on the tip of his own tongue— just to lighten the atmosphere. "And you look as beautiful as always. But that goes without saying, doesn’t it?"

[minusregina]

“Somehow, I can’t bring myself to believe that.” The retort was easy, and practiced. A lot assumed that she was dim, or something close to it, judging by her current (part-time, half-inherited) occupation and full-time area of study. Contrary to popular belief, her IQ was quite high, and had she or her brother felt any need to draw attention to the fact, they would have broken away from the family business and went on their own paths, perhaps in the uncharted, dull lands of medicine.

She scoffs when he grabs her book, and immediately regards the material as trash – she can replace it easily. But she won’t stand for being told once again that her money is purely from her pater, and so she doesn’t, getting on heeled feet and resisting the urge to punch him in the throat. “You make a lot of poor assumptions that it’s entirely plausible for me to also assume that you’re a touchy, ignorant, whiny bitch.”

"I can assure you that my intelligence both socially and academically far surpass that of yours.” He says bitterly, leaning over her to rip the book from between her fingers, eyes cold as he closes it and resists the urge to hit her.  He had never felt such a strong desire to make a woman bleed, but this girl had pushed him too far recently, and speaking out ignorantly about him when she knew nothing was jumping over the invisible line.  

"You know nothing.  You do what? Spend your daddy’s money and design poor quality fashion." He snapped, tossing the book onto the floor before standing up straight.  "You’re the shameful one here, not me."

[minusregina]

Hate yours

Be rude to yours 

Become your character’s enemy

Be willing to attack/fight yours in a plot

Develop a bromance or platonic relationship 

Have or receive UNreciprocated feelings with yours

Team up with your character against others

Otherwise engage in non-romantic interactions

Reblog if you give permission for other characters to:

[minusregina]

“The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world’s sorrowtoo heavy for one heart to suffer.” —Oscar Wilde

         Doctor Han Sunhwa, cardiovascular surgeon at Myeongwoo University Hospital

          BASIC INFORMATION || ABOUT || MESSAGE

[minusregina]

There it was again. Overly apologetic people grated against her nerves more than hot weather did, but that wasn’t saying much. A lot of people in general annoyed her, and not for the first time her mind momentarily wandered to any and all plans for world domination (now put on hold because of the absence of her partner in crime). “Right. Uh-huh. Do you even know where to educate yourself? Do you know how? By now I’m not surprised if you say no to both, trash.”

"S-sorry…" He replied once more, bowing his head. This girl was seriously pissing him off, but he was persistent on putting up such a gentle, pushover facade to hide how cruel he could’ve been in return. Dori decided he had to leave before the volcano of his patience erupted. "Then, I’ll—I’ll leave right now and educate myself."

[minusregina]

Her focus has always been as sharp as her words, but that doesn’t mean she likes glaring at anyone long enough to memorise their features. He has no monopoly on her anger and he’s not the first one she’s glare at, but he’s one of the few that she actually likes glaring at, and that in itself is dangerous.  But the pads of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her neck immediately incites blooming redness on her cheeks – more evident now than they would have been before. She’s had enough of this physiological weakness to his very presence. This, she thinks, is why he should have remained a one-night stand, and just that. People who know her shameful preferences are people she usually cuts out of her life, but he makes an infuriating exception. Gabbana does not take well to insults either, and she almost punches him, yet her fingers only curl into a fist in his hair as she pushes his face closer to her own. Her free palm presses now against his chest as she kisses him, demanding and assertive, in a last-ditch attempt to get him to shut up. 

He who angers you conquers you. Was the permanent disfigurement she threatened the crooked smile that already ruins the symmetry of his face? “Get closer then.” She’s not exactly threatening when she’s half a foot shorter than him. The other half is probably up her ass – the cause of her unpleasantness. He had warned her earlier of the implications though.  “And listen very carefully to me.” She seems to be deaf. Her hearing must’ve been traded for what even he would acknowledge to be a gifted pair of eyes. But he’s unwilling to negotiate, especially when she serves such a substandard show of submission. Is it because they’re not between high thread count sheets? “I don’t need your money.” He doesn’t have any gaping emotional void that he needs to fill with material possessions. “I can make my own art” – of her skin as his thumb prods at the bruise while fingers curl lightly and lazily around her throat.  “You know what I want. If you don’t then maybe you’re too stupid to be allowed autonomy.”

[minusregina]

[ text : dumbass ]

A really, really, really dumb one. I'm surprised you managed to last this long.

[ text : dumbass ]

Nope. Not when I charm my way out of it. 

[ text : dumbass ]

I'm still laughing oh my god you're so stupid.

[ text to: bbanana ] I am only a dumb boy trying to survive, spare me. 

[ text to: bbanana ] HOW. 

[ text to: bbanana ] I need to destroy your phone. Doesn’t the police confiscate these things? :’( 

[minusregina]

Just as costumes are invariably important on any stage, so are the dress clothes that one has to wear when playing the part of a young socialite who appears to have nothing better to do with her time than be the charming Spencer girl that has managed to worm her way into the upper echelons of society. Usually her outfit would be picked by her brother, and she for him, but he’s away in god-knows-where (the private investigator she set on his tail inevitably losing his trail), and frankly she’s tired of worrying her wits out for her wayward twin.

Nonetheless it unsettles her not having her delicate arm curled around its leaner, more muscular counterpart. There’s something about driving herself home that sets her on edge, especially when she knows she’ll get somewhat drunk tonight with how things are going. Unlike Dolce she’s quite concerned about her driving etiquette, and although she does go past the speed limit from time to time she doesn’t do it as often as he does (it’s been said once or twice that she’s wasting a fast car on slow lanes). But she manages to smile past that, as she’s been doing for the past few weeks – has it been months? She can’t keep track anymore – and shakes a few wrinkled hands and loses herself in the cool surfaces of bejewelled fingers curling around her own in a display of civility.

Smiles in these settings are just beautified monsters baring their teeth at each other and hoping to shine brighter than the rest. Gabbana knows that the whole pursuit is fruitless if chased after for too long; in her case, it’s a race she’s been forced to run ever since she can remember, tiny feet walking along the winded tracks of a ballroom floor. Years later here she is, finishing another dance with a middle-aged man whose palm has lingered around her waist longer than she would have liked, and she feels like setting his skin on fire. Then again, she can’t blame him; she always looks too good to be left alone.

Which is why she’s glad to hear that familiar voice, a genuine smile finally forming on reddened lips before she turns to see who it is. Fingers curl around the fabric covering his arm and she leads him towards the bar tucked into the corner – it’s compulsory to have one in every gathering – and it’s only then that she allows herself to sigh. “God, you’re a lifesaver, Robbie.” Maybe she’s been too nice lately, but from what she’s gathered most of the attendants of this party are relative infants to the world of the invisible beasts lurking behind bedazzled cloths, which also means that they won’t understand her if she speaks a foreign language fluidly enough for them to lag behind in translation. “I feel like stabbing myself in the foot just to get out of dancing with the guys who think they have a chance with me. And the way people are dressed – it’s like they forgot to look in the mirror before going out. Like, there’s this lady with huge hands, right? You’d think she’d try to make them look smaller, but god, it’s like she intentionally meant for those taloned knobs to look even larger. God, it’s just so disgusting!”

███ █ THE NEW CLASSIC .

minusregina

Brand. Designer. Fashion. 

He can appreciate fashion for what it is. Even Robbie recognizes that fashion is an art form, and one Helluva an asset once you start getting in the upper circles of the socialite kingdom. But when fashion is put in the context of him — like designer clothes on his body — then Robbie couldn’t give a single flying fuck. It just doesn’t make sense for someone like Robbie to wear clothes where each fiber of a single shirt probably costs a limb. He’s a stunt man, a teenage boy. He spends a good majority of time jumping from rooftops, and getting into fist fights. He ends up with torn denim knees, and dirt stained Batman t-shirts. So, what’s the point of Robbie wearing clothes made out of gold? Anyways, dressing nice inevitably calls for attention. Robbie hates attention. Being a stunt man means that you work in the shadows, and only step out into the light when you are under the guise of someone else’s character. He’s just not used to being watched all the damned time. Not to mention that Robbie doesn’t believe himself to be attractive, so why dress to draw eyes towards him?

Hence why Robbie is at this event looking like he’s ready to walk into Wal-Mart (or the Korean equivalent of Wal-Mart). Not that he’s a supporter of horrendous American capitalism, but a flannel, t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylor’s are more suited in a multi-store than a upper-class social gathering. He’s even got a snapback twisted on backwards. That’s as close as you get to Flipping the Bird in a public setting like this without actually raising it. His legal-mother has already given him shit, but Robbie doesn’t care. He wants to bail out of this joint fast. He can’t fucking stand the superficiality of the rich and powerful. Just when he’s ready to jump out the window, Robbie sights a familiar face. Robbie knows he’s going to get serious shit for how he’s dressed, but he can’t help crack a grin nonetheless. If there’s anyone he’s willing to take shit talk from, then it would be—

"Gaaa—bba—naaa~" Robbie calls out in a sing song voice as he approaches her from behind. She may be older than him, but the whole Korean tradition of ‘Hyung’, ‘Noona’, and so forth is one he’s still a stickler about not adhering too. But if Gabbana did want him to call her ‘Noona’, then he probably would. She’s one of the few people in Seoul that he genuinely enjoys being around. After all, they are the Mean Girl/Boy duo. “Didn’t know that you were going to be here. You bored outta your mind yet?” That sass of his is already starting to surface. Gabbana brings the best out of him, and the best Robbie is Sassy Diva Robbie. “How have you been? Anything new?” His words sound like casual, harmless small talk, but the mischievous glint in his eyes speaks of something else. He’s restless. He wants to do something, and there’s no one better than Gabbana to satisfy that craving. 

[minusregina]

She grinned, all pearly whites and parted red. This way she seemed almost charming. Almost, because she could never quite shake the indifference in her demeanour. “Of course I do. I just don’t think many people are worthy to be witness to it. Come with me to a party sometime, you might believe it. It depends on who’s attending, of course, but you’d find me more agreeable.”

That, in itself, was all the generosity she could extend without being pushed to do so by some pressing obligation. Besides, she liked the girl enough to keep from hurling insults in her direction every few seconds.

“I was making a point that not many people can afford what I can afford on a daily basis. Mostly because most people are peasants. Ah, the economy really is terrible.” The final statement was flippant, dismissive. Not all her money was siphoned from her father – some of it was from her own investments, and she used them as cleverly as she would move pieces across a chessboard. “If you don’t play your cards right. But anyway, that’s not what I was talking about. I meant that I’ll be leaving soon, and I see no one asking me about my travel plans. Why?”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “You have a genial attitude?” she snickered. It seemed almost unrealistic. Young or old, she could only see Gabbana driving the world insane. Or maybe it was because she was one of those young people Gabbana didn’t want to suck up to. Either way, she still wasn’t sure why she was even here.

She couldn’t lie though, she wanted to see this other side. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so inclined to shake this attitude out of the other. Unless of course, the nicer side was an act. Then forget it.

"First people can’t afford your clothes, then they can’t afford your plane tickets to France," she mused out loud. Her gaze wandered around the room then back to the girl, "Besides aren’t they fashion fanatics, not travel fanatics?” It made sense to her. Why care where a designer is going, as long as they post their clothes?

[minusregina]

On a spectrum that ranges from ‘normal’ to ‘really fucking weird’, this man seems to be intent on climbing past the variety of strange people Gabbana’s had the displeasure of meeting in the past towards the latter, less agreeable side of the scale. Things are not looking up, and she’s more than tempted to fool him into holding the phone close to his face so that she can smack it right against his nose, after which she’ll make a hasty retreat. Screw good karma; she’s more focused on not sneering hard enough to make the expression permanent.

“First of all,” she begins, index rising as she rested another over its tip, “you don’t talk to strangers. Didn’t you mother tell you that? Second of all, you don’t say weird shit like ‘Imugi’ and ‘I have been living in a different world’, you fucking creep. Take that to some other convention with your weirdo weaboo friends.”

Evidently, this isn’t the first time she’s publicly berated and insulted a total stranger. Being extremely critical of others comes naturally to her, and often is a source of trouble. Gabbana’s making an honest effort, really, but it seems that the weather itself is working against her nerves as the day continues to grow hotter still, especially with frayed nerves.

“I’d challenge that notion but I don’t want your tongue anywhere near me, thank you very much.” Mindlessly, she gathers platinum locks in a messy bun and fixes the stray strands behind her ear. “Anyway, if that’s all you needed, I’d better get going. Since you obviously don’t want the help of someone who’s sour, I’m sure you can figure it out yourself.”

   Joonhyo stops glaring long enough to stare at the screen of his phone, filling out the needed information for the so called ’ email ’ before going to speak. “An Imugi is an Imugi.” He hadn’t realized he’d let it slip till now, not particularly surprised he’d done so. He won’t go into much detail pertaining the subject for two reasons, one he didn’t particularly wish to explain his race to a stranger on the off chance she may not believe him or even worse she did believe him and tried to make profit off it somehow. The second reason was simply because if one wished it they could find a general description of his race on the internet, of course half of the information was incorrect and he could explain it to her better but it all went back to the first reason of why not. 

 ”I have not been living in a different century but a different world.” He speaks flatly, thumbs typing away at the keyboard upon his phone, trying to figure out what username he should use, he figures it may as well be something simple, easy to say and easy to remember. After a moment Joonhyo glances over at the woman, his glare less intense then before yet still present, “Are there any more ‘unspoken ’ rules I should know about?”

  He asks simply because it seems the woman knows everything or at least pretends to know, and he simply wishes to test her knowledge, he too is very knowledgeable, at least in regards to the information that regards the universe and other subjects most wouldn’t find ’ interesting ’ in this day and age. 

  “I can’t stop my face from doing this.” He retorts, grey hues squinting even more when she shuts her book, “I look at you and simply wish to squint as if I’m looking at the sun. I bet you taste sour.” Joonhyo scrunches his features a bit more before turning his attention back to his phone once again.  Something about the woman rubbed him the wrong way, it was his first time meeting someone so — snappy. She was like a prickly sea urchin. 

[minusregina]

eunaessi:

[ text ] I told her I’m a wizard [ text ] why do you have to kidnap me though, that is the question—

[ text : Masseuse ]

Great. Your hands should work magic on my feet again.

[ text : Masseuse ]

The normal way of getting people out of hospitals is boring.

[minusregina]

lxjngsuk:

 jongsuk  @pyonamin    1s

@gabspencer i’m a grower, not a shower

expand          ↰ reply ⇆ retweet ★ favorite 。。。more

@gabspencer would have worked as a great comeback in a different context.

expand          ↰ reply ⇆ retweet ★ favorite 。。。more

@gabspencer you win this round.

expand          ↰ reply ⇆ retweet ★ favorite 。。。more

Gabbana Spencer @gabspencer 1m

@pyonamin I win all rounds.

@pyonamin I thought this would be an obvious outcome, seeing as you're...you, and I'm obvs superior.

[minusregina]

[ text : T ]

He's asking for your number.

[ text : T ]

Pfft, you have nothing to worry about. He's gay.

[ text : T ]

...I think.

>>> Gabbana: Why 'poor him'? He got a good look at my junk and got a free hair rinse with it! I'd say he had the better night than I did.

[minusregina]

ⓒ Blonde Soojung